The Birthday Girl
by Telemain's Daughter
Summary: Barton and Romanoff have been partners for years. But on an unusual mission on Christmas Eve, their partnership-and their friendship-starts to crumble. When everything goes wrong, will they have each others backs? Clintasha/Blackeye/Blackhawk. Rated T for mild language and romance. (This is my version of how Natasha got her arrow necklace and why Clint was not in "Winter Soldier"
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own these characters, they belong to Marvel. There will be more chapters to follow; please Read and Review! (This is my first fanfic...)_

CHAPTER ONE

Natasha Romanoff's birthday was tomorrow. This had nothing—and everything-to do with why Agent Clint Barton was sitting in a Forever21 store on Christmas Eve.

It wasn't like she was going to let him celebrate with her. If he brought it up, she'd probably say that birthdays were for children. Like love. And fun things. He hadn't even been going to come on this mission with her. He'd always known she liked to be alone this time of year. Well, so did he. Christmas wasn't big on his list of happy memory days.

He'd been packing up at the practice range early that morning when a text came through from Pepper, of all people.

"btw, Nat's bday is 2morrow! YOLO! "

It seemed to be an endearingly annoying hobby of Pepper's to know everything about everybody's private life. And then be cheerful about it. But he'd gotten the message, loud and clear.

Director Fury agreed readily enough that two agents were better than one, and twenty minutes later Clint was waiting for Natasha in her car. By now he was used to her death glares. They didn't faze him anymore. Much.

Sitting crunched into a hard plastic chair outside the ladies dressing room, however, he wondered if this was really part of the mission or if he was still being punished for tagging along.

But Agt. Hill had said in the briefing materials that this—this shopping mall outside of White Plains, NY—was where the drop would take place, and Agt. Hill did not, as far as anyone knew, have a sense of humor. So here they were.

The mission was simple: Intercept the drop of classified weapons schematics before the Baljistani free agent could pick them up. It was not a mission that required two people. Natasha had pointed this out more than once on the drive out.

The young guy next to him in the plastic seat row gave him a sympathetic smile. Clint realized he'd been staring. Everyone was so young here. Great way to spend Christmas Eve; ignored and feeling old.

His phone vibrated; a text from Natasha.

"you still alive out there?"

"barely. What r u doing in there?"

"wldn't u like to know. go buy something."

"k. anything u want?"

"the cashier is our target. Go surveil, barton."

Right.

The checkout guy, swarmed by young adult shoppers and (people shopping for young adults), looked innocuous enough, in a plaid-shirt-skinny-pants kind of way. Clint slipped in line behind a group of teenage girls laden with sweaters and sparkly headbands. If he really was their target, the person who would perform the drop later that evening, that would mean he was Nelson Parker, ex-boyfriend of one of the physicists on-staff at S.T.R.I.K.E. headquarters. Clint didn't recognize him. Pepper probably would, and be able to tell him in detail why this dude and Kira Wells broke up. Whatever the reason, Nelson Parker was bitter. He had stolen Kira's work and was less than an hour away from selling it to the highest bidder in the underground arms business.

Clint scanned the items by the register for something to buy as the girls ahead of him sorted out their sweaters. A turning rack of necklaces, gum, more gum, mints… He looked through the necklaces, half entertaining the thought of getting Tasha something, even though she would kill him if he did. Little gold hearts on chains, stars, arrows, birds-

"Can I help you, sir." Nelson (so his nametag confirmed) intoned in a bored voice.

Clint took one of the necklaces and handed it over. "Just this, please. Thanks.

"Busy tonight. Sucks having to work a holiday, right?" Clint asked as Nelson rang him up. "When do you get off?"

"Soon."

"It's snowing pretty hard out there," (It was not, in fact, but Clint was determined to get something out of this guy), "Are you parked close, or…"

"That'll be $13.47, sir. Do you want a bag or our holiday giftwrap."

"Never mind, I'll just take it, thanks."

And then Natasha walked up to the register, sliding her arm around Clint's waist and using her Suburban Girlfriend voice. "Hey, babe, you ready?"

Clint steeled himself not to laugh. "Yeah, you?"

Natasha smiled and laid a black leather moto jacket on the counter. "Just this."

Mr. Parker, not immune to the power of the Black Widow's smile, proved himself a champion of customer service. So intent was he on providing the best possible shopping experience to the beautiful redhead, that he missed what Clint did not: Natasha, slipping a microscopic tracking device sticker onto his palm when she handed over her money.

"Do you want a bag, Miss? Or we have our limited edition holiday gift wrap for no extra—"

"I'll just take it, thanks."

She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the jacket on as they left the store, then pulled out her phone and started walking.

Clint glanced over at her. "What happened to the jacket you came in with?"

"I needed a new one. What did you find out about Parker?"

No personal questions tonight. "He's shut down the other registers and has his stuff all ready behind the counter, so he's leaving as soon as his shift's over. Two backpacks with his coat, one new and not very full. Car keys to a late model Honda and an employee parking tag on the ring. Number 112."

"So he has the schematics." Looking over her shoulder as they walked, Clint could see the tracking program she'd pulled up. The dot that represented Nelson Parker was still centered in the Forever21 store.

"He brought them to work with him, though? Doesn't seem very smart to me."

"He stole from Dr. Wells and Fury," Natasha snapped. "He's not very smart, period. You just told me he has a new backpack he doesn't need and is set up for a quick getaway. So unless you can confirm that he DOESN"T have the schematics inside the backpack—"

"I don't have x-ray vision, Natasha," Clint said.

She swung around to face him. "I didn't ask if you did. In fact, I didn't ask for you to come along on this at all, and now you're second guessing—"

"What the hell, Natasha?" He gripped her arm and tried to steer her into the doorway of a closed store. She barely moved. Around them people rushed by; it was suddenly too warm, everyone was watching them.

And Natasha was glaring at him like he was the enemy of her life.

"Yes, what the hell, Hawkeye. Why DID you come? I can handle this. You know it, Director Fury knows it—did he send you to check up on me? Make sure the evil spy's still doing her job?"

He stared at her, unable to come up with words. Her face was a complete mask, and though usually he could read through it, tonight there was nothing. Her face, her eyes, were cold.

"I don't need you here." Her voice lowered. "I don't want you here."

His hand dropped from her arm. She straightened and turned away again.

"Take the car with you when you go. I'll find my own way back." Eyes already on her phone again, Agt. Romanoff walked away into the crowd of holiday shoppers.


	2. Chapter 2

_I made some changes; here is the revised version of Chapter Two-_

CHAPTER TWO

The east wing of the shopping mall was almost completely deserted. Every store front was dark, an empty cage behind its security gate. Only a popcorn shop remained open, radiating aqua and red light and the smell of buttered popcorn from the last corner Natasha had passed.

Down here, by the back wall and the emergency exit, there was no one.

She wedged her back into the corner, between a trashcan and a ficus tree, where she could see both the exit and the roof access door and tried to focus solely on her phone and the mission. Push all the _feelings _away. Growing up as a brainwashed assassin-in-training, she had never had to deal with feelings, not about anything. Now, even so many years later, feelings sometimes threatened to overwhelm her. Especially around her birthday.

Especially around Clint Barton.

Damn him. What did he think he was doing, anyway? She always took the Christmas missions, and she always did them alone. It was her time to be alone with memories and consciously ignore them, purge them from her system.

It was her time to buy herself something. A book, maybe, or a jacket. A gift, if she would allow herself to see it that way. To make up for all the years without gifts of any kind, for any reason at all.

She scrunched herself farther into the corner, hearing the new leather of the jacket squeak against the tiled wall. Whatever. Whatever, whatever, whatever. Just watch the phone, track the dot. Follow the target, intercept the drop. Complete the mission. Be a good girl and go back for a pat on the head and an entire bottle of vodka, alone in her apartment.

The dot hadn't left the Forever21 store yet. It was after nine o'clock.

Footsteps sounded at the entrance of the deserted concourse. Natasha pressed even further back, becoming invisible as only she could.

It was Nelson Parker.

A quick glance at her screen confirmed the tracking device was still in the store, unmoving.

He had found it. She had been made.

Parker was holding the new backpack, glancing back the way he'd come. She shoved the phone into her pocket and checked for her gun under the jacket.

He bolted. The emergency exit alarm wailed as he burst out the doors, Natasha right behind him.

Parker was headed for the employee parking at the back, but he didn't make it. Natasha swung up onto a semi platform, jumping off the railing onto Parker's back, bringing him down to the ground in a roll.

"Where are the plans, Parker?" she demanded, straddling his back and wrenching his arms behind him.

"You can't have them—"

"You want to bet? Where are they?"

"They're in the bag, but you don't understand—"

She dragged the bag over with her foot, still holding Parker down.

"—I promised them to someone else—"

"You sold them, Parker." They were in the bag. Damp, from the snowmelt puddles on the asphalt, but there. The folder and two flash drives.

"N-no, not exactly…"

"Hello, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha's head whipped up, in time to meet the side of a gun across her cheek.

She ducked and spun off of Parker's back, kicking her leg up and swiping the gun out of her assailant's hand. In one movement she was on her feet, gun drawn.

Granger. Kellan Granger, enemy HYDRA agent. He was backed by a wave of HYDRA agents, dark figures in long coats, all armed, all pointing their guns at her.

"Merry Christmas, Natalia," Granger said, his British accent sliding across her other name. One of her other names. "All I want is what was promised to me, Natalia. We don't have to play rough." He smiled. "Unless that's what you want."

"Tell your little boys to stand to stand down, then," she said, not lowering her gun.

"You first."

There was a scraping sound. Nelson Parker had the backpack in his hand and was scooting backwards, away from the group of agents.

A single shot and he fell.

Natasha fired at the HYDRA agent who'd killed him as Granger launched himself forward. She twisted out of his path, feeling him latch onto her jacket. With a rough jerk he brought her down with him as he fell, two other men converging, boots raised for kicks and blows. She rolled over Granger, pushing him into their range and wriggling out of the jacket.

The backpack was only three feet away, half under Parker's body. She lunged for it as Granger's boot connected with her lower back. Grunting, she grabbed the bag and stood up, laying out an oncoming agent with a roundhouse kick to the jaw.

There were too many of them, twelve counting Granger. She'd lost her gun when she went down, and she had to protect the schematics.

She threw the bag up onto a loading dock, gripped the railing and pulled herself up after it. Bullets sparked off the metal railing as she dropped to the other side, picking up the bag again and heading for the emergency exit. A hail of bullets hit the door as she reached it, ducking to avoid the ricochets. Locked. It was locked again from the inside, without even a handle or a lock on the outside.

She ducked down again as another volley of bullets flew, under the railing on the other side, dropping down to ground level again, into the dim lee caused by a wing of the building.

Face to face—face to gun—with Granger.

"You do like it rough, don't you, Nata—"

He dropped, a black arrow protruding from his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

He wasn't exactly following her, he was looking for the roof access stairs. Whenever Clint had a problem, he headed for a high place.

He also thought he might be able to spot the car from up there, because Natasha had parked it and didn't tell him where.

It was entirely a coincidence that the stairs were in the same direction Natasha was walking.

Clint may not have been very good at lying to himself, but he was good at not being noticed, even by a master assassin trained to notice everything. At the last crossroads before the end of the mall, Clint let Natasha walk on ahead while he ducked into a popcorn store.

He was greeted with a frantic, "We're closing!" from the two girls behind the counter.

"Oh, right, sorry, thanks," he said, smiling and backing out. They forgot him as soon as he was gone.

Natasha had reached the back wall, and was scrunched into a corner, concentrating on her phone. The sight of her, with the slight frown wrinkling her forehead, almost made him go over to her then, to apologize and try and find a way to make whatever was wrong better. But she was so intent. On the mission, on getting her job done; she wouldn't welcome him intruding. Again.

_I don't need you…I don't want you…_

The roof access was a yard away. He eased the steel door shut silently behind him. Natasha had called it his 'superpower' once; the ability to walk so softly and move about so that even she couldn't hear him. Archery depended on the element of surprise.

He took the stairs two and three at a time, suddenly desperate for fresh air and the sky. Ducking under the yellow chain marked 'Authorized Personnel Only', he pushed open the roof door and emerged onto the gravel coated top of the mall.

Several yards away, another wall rose, a metal ladder leading to a higher part of the rooftop. Right here was an empty stretch, the top of a wing of the building. Nothing surrounding him, and he could breathe again.

He walked to the edge and lowered himself to a crouch, balancing on the lip of the building. He could feel the thin space of solid concrete under his feet, the familiar press of his collapsed bow inside his coat. This high up, the ice cold wind snapped in his ears.

It would be up to him to apologize, when they got back. And if he had to wait out her anger, well, so be it. He had done it before. After all, snipers could be very patient.

A sharp scream of a siren cut into the night below him. He saw two figures run out of the mall, one swiftly taking down the other. He smiled. That would be Tasha. She'd be done soon. He stood up and started to turn away. He should find the car. Maybe if he brought it around, they could just save time and ride back together. It was stupid for her to have to call in transport from SHEILD when her car was still here. Besides, he hadn't been looking forward to the Ride of Shame back alone.

Gunshot.

Instantly, he was back at the roof ledge, bow drawn and an arrow in place. The light in the parking lot below was crap, but there were twelve men down there _(where the hell had they come from?)_, Parker looked dead, and a fight was in progress.

He picked out Tasha from her hair catching the light. She moved almost faster than he could cover her. Keeping one eye on the scene, he fished in his coat for a rappel line; no way was she getting out of this any direction but up. She was cornered.

He saw her drop down off a loading dock. Target in the long coat was already there, gun drawn. Tasha wasn't moving.

He took the shot.

The man dropped, and Clint followed that arrow with a second, streaming the rappel line behind it. He secured it on the metal ladder to the second story, and was back at the edge in time to grab Tasha's arms and help her over the side.

She thrust a bloodstained backpack at him. "You have pockets. Take the stuff out and toss the pack down to the hyenas."

"Baljistani?" he asked, securing the schematics and flash drives inside his coat.

"No. HYDRA." She tossed him his coiled rappel line. "Either HYDRA eliminated them and took over the contract, or Parker was even stupider than I thought."

A crunch of gravel came from above and they both whipped around. Clint saw the gun first. He pulled Natasha down to the rooftop with him, and the bullet chipped into the concrete behind them.

"I'm going to go with Option B," he said.

"Where is the package, Parker?" shouted a heavily accented voice on the upper roof. Natasha swore in Russian.

"Up or down?" Clint asked her, fitting another arrow into his bow.

He saw her glance back at the parking lot, weighing the options. The HYDRA agents were regrouping in suspicious silence. Probably getting ready to stand on each other's shoulders or something.

"Up," she said. "Cover me?"

He gave a nod, backed up into crouch and took out the man above them. Natasha was up the ladder. He saw a flash of her red hair in the security light as she launched herself into the fight.

The HYDRA agents below had been creative. Between the remaining eleven, they were wheeling a dumpster over against the wall. It reached halfway up to the roof. Clint shot down three before the sound of a body landing behind him made him turn.

Natasha. A Baljistani heavy skipped the ladder and landed beside her. She swept his legs out from under him, crashing him down on top of her. Clint prepped for the shot. Just a few inches further away from Natasha, that was all he needed—

Shots fired from above and below, and there was chaos on the square of rooftop. Natasha and her assailant rolled toward the edge. Clint could no longer take him out, he was too close. Dodging another volley from above, he lowered his bow to kick out at the agent wrestling with Tasha. The man rolled suddenly, crashing into Clint's leg and surging to his feet.

He heard Tasha yell his name, her hoarse voice swirling in the whoosh of air as the roof fell away beneath his feet. And then there was only air, and falling.


	4. Chapter 4

_You've all been so patient, here's the rest of it, two chapters, be sure and read both! I hope you've enjoyed this, and I will be back to write more soon! _

_-TD_

CHAPTER FOUR

Kill first, have feelings later.

Natasha pushed the sight of Clint going over the edge from her mind as she scrambled to her feet. The Baljistani agent was caught off-guard and she swept his legs out from under him. His skull hit the concrete ledge on his way down with a dull crack. She grabbed the gun out of his belt from where he lay on the roof, swung around, and picked off the last three Baljistani agents as they attempted to descend the ladder from the upper story. Only then did she turn her attention to the parking lot below.

The HYDRA agents had pushed a Dumpster up against the wall. Its height cut the ten-foot drop in half, and it was unguarded at the moment. The remaining agents' attention was occupied in a scuffling fight going on around the base of the Dumpster. Natasha carefully maneuvered over the side of the roof, extending herself by her arms until she could let go and drop onto the closed Dumpster lid.

She caught the locked cross bar to keep from rocketing off the edge. Pulling the gun out of her belt, she swung her legs over the side, kicked an agent in the head from behind, and leaped down to finish this fight.

Clint was backed into a corner on the ground, clutching one arm to his side and barely fending off another agent. She didn't take the time to assess her partner's condition beyond that; he was conscious and that was enough for now. There were six other agents who needed her immediate attention.

The fight didn't last long. In fact, it could hardly be called a fight, certainly not a fair one. An angry Natasha Romanoff was not something you walked away from intact.

When the last agent fell, she looked up and focused on Clint. The agent he had been fighting lay at his feet, unconscious and guaranteed to be in pain when he eventually woke up. Clint stepped gingerly away from the wall, testing his walking abilities. She maneuvered around two prone bodies, putting her hands on his shoulders and ducking her head to meet his eyes.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to shrug her off, and wincing.

"Like hell you are," she snapped, moving to his side and putting his arm over her shoulder. He leaned into her, and they walked slowly away from the loading area. They stopped under a street lamp in the employee parking lot. She pulled her phone out and thumbed the screen to life. A few keystrokes and she had sent a request for clean-up and containment, and a medic to meet them back at HQ.

Clint pivoted away from her and propped himself against the lamp post. Natasha fiddled uselessly with her phone for a minute more, watching him under her brows. He was holding his arm again; seeing it in the light, she could tell it was broken, and badly. He had probably landed on it on the Dumpster, rolled or fell the rest of the way to the ground.

He caught her eyes and huffed out a laugh. "Now," he said, "do you remember where you parked?"


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Christmas at Stark Tower was not as over the top as Clint had expected it to be.

Clint hadn't even expected to be at Stark Tower when he woke up. After passing out in the passenger seat of Natasha's car last night, he only woke up briefly in a hospital room. The doctor told him he would want to go back to sleep again, because this next part would hurt. He had gone back to sleep. He had expected to see the same room, or maybe a different one, but still the hospital, when he woke up again.

Instead, he woke up in one of Tony's ridiculously comfortable chairs, his arm in a complicated sling and cast, his head still muzzy from Propofol. Pepper was there. She was futzing with twinkly lights strung along the edge of the bar, and Tony was leaning over from the other side, bothering her and making her laugh.

Tony glanced up. "Hey, Icarus is awake."

Pepper slapped him on the shoulder. "How are you feeling, Clint?"

"Pretty good," he lied. (Although truthfully, he wasn't feeling much of anything. Thank you, drugs.) "Where is everybody? I thought a Tony Stark Christmas Special would be in full swing by now."

Pepper laughed and pulled herself up to sit on the bar. Tony leaned forward, an arm around her waist.

"Actually," he said, "we are currently having the dullest Christmas ever. And it's all your fault."

"It is not your fault, Clint," Pepper said reassuringly. "I simply said that maybe we should keep it quiet, and let you rest. We figured you'd be more comfortable here than in sick bay at headquarters."

"Thanks." He sat up, testing the level of wooziness. Not bad. "Really, thanks guys."

"And let's see," Pepper counted off on her fingers. "Steve is at a children's hospital tonight, dressed up as Santa Claus, and Bruce is making potato pancakes in the kitchen downstairs—"

"They are delicious," Tony confirmed.

"And Nat is—"

Natasha walked into the room. Pepper broke off.

"If it isn't the birthday girl herself," said Tony. "You know, I never imagined you having a birthday. More like you sprang fully formed from the head of Zeus—ow." Pepper smacked him again, harder. "Kidding. Kidding. Happy birthday, really. Drink?"

Natasha shook her head. "No. Thanks."

She hadn't looked at Clint yet. He couldn't stop himself from looking at her. She looked tired, her arms crossed around her waist, her hair flatter and messier. She lingered for a minute, and no one knew what to say, and it felt strange and awkward. She nodded, walked away across the room and out onto the balcony, pulling the door firmly closed behind her.

"Let's go get more of those potato pancakes from Bruce," suggested Pepper, sliding off the bar and pulling Tony along by the hand. "Maybe we can convince him to come join us, we could all watch a movie or something. Sound good, Clint?"

Clint produced a smile for Pepper."Yeah, sounds great."

He knew what she was doing. She already had Tony halfway to the door. Another minute and they were gone, affectionately bickering about classic Christmas movies was as the elevator doors slid shut.

It was spitting snow outside. Natasha leaned against the balcony railing, her sweater wrapped around her.

"You shouldn't be out here," she said, without turning around.

"Natasha Romanoff, always telling me where to go." He crossed to her, standing slightly away from the railing.

"I meant it's too cold, and it's icy, and—"She turned around.

"I know." He fumbled in his pocket. "Got you something."

"I don't want a gift." She shook her head, once.

"Then it's a reminder of a debt. I owe you. You kicked all those guys' asses and basically rescued mine."

"You're my partner." She took a step closer. "You don't owe me anything."

"Then it's a gift." He pushed the sweater sleeve off her hand and dropped the gift from his hand into hers, curling her fingers around it. "Accept it."

She lifted it up. The gold chain glinted once in the balcony lights; it was the arrow necklace he'd bought as a cover, standing in line at the Forever21 store.

Slowly, Natasha unclasped it and fastened it around her neck. It disappeared beneath the collar of her sweater.

"_Spasibo_," she said. Thank you, in Russian.

"You're welcome."

"I'm sorry."

They spoke at the same time. Clint stepped to her, reaching up with his good hand to trace the outline of the chain beneath her sweater. She ducked her head, resting it against his.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Stop."

"No. No, I'm—"

He kissed the corner of her mouth, enough to make her stop talking. "Shhh. I'll be ok. We're good. Stop."

She nodded.

"Happy birthday, Tasha."

She smiled. "_Spasibo_."

THE END


End file.
